When Stories Come to Life
by MirwenAnareth
Summary: Ever wondered what happens when a character finds out you wrote a gay porn fanfiction about them? Well, now you know the answer. Warning: This story is GAY!
1. A Story from the Pocket

**_Skyrim belongs to Bethesda Game Studios._**

 _This story is dedicated to dart0808 as a part of his initiation into the gay world. All hail the Gay Lord!_

* * *

 **Chapter 01**

Listening to women's giggles always made Brynjolf feel uneasy. Here, at the center of Riften, the most rotten city in Skyrim, possibly in all Tamriel, nobody's heart was pure. Once you decided to stay in the city for more than just a few moments, your soul would become tainted. Of course, that was in large measure Brynjolf's own doing, for no one escaped his ever watchful eye, and this red-haired Nord had a knack for spotting other people's weaknesses. One look was enough to ensure a person would listen to his words and most likely do whatever he wanted them to. Never in his life had he met a person without any dark intentions, without something their hearts desperately craved for, and his job was to pull this desire out from the depths of their conscience and shape it into something real, tangible and most possibly dyed in gold. However, even Brynjolf had something he feared. There were beings in this world whose dark nature by far surpassed his, entities to whom he could never compare, frightful demons with eyes full of lust. And they were everywhere.

Women. Those creatures of dark, walking the streets beside men like him, always looking with those attentive eyes, always judging and weighing, scheming and devising.

From time to time, Brynjolf enjoyed a woman's company, reveled in watching her elegant frame and slender hands which stretched towards him like wings of an angel. The gods had bestowed beauty upon these creatures which could not be compared to anything in this world, but, by the Nine, why did they have to be so unpredictable?

Once, a woman had lured him into one of the secluded rooms in the Bee and Barb, the local inn, and made him strip all the way down to his feet. But what a shock it was when a friend of hers came to join her, and they played with him for a good while, giggling and inspecting his body with curious looks in their faces and eyes wide like two children who had found an anthill and now were poking it with wooden sticks, watching what would happen next. The poking then was performed by the means of their thin fingers, their tips carrying nails longer than the hilt of his dagger and colored in bright red and black. And then the demons spoke.

"So, what do you say?" one asked with an impish giggle. "Top, or bottom?"

"Well, look at his pelvis," the other one breathed, giving Brynjolf a scrutinizing look. "So mighty, like a dragon's jaw, ready to snatch…" _What in Oblivion are they talking about?!_

"Oooh, you have to use this one!" the first one exclaimed, clapping her hands gleefully, and reached for a quill and piece of paper which very conveniently lay on the bedside table just by the window. She scribbled something there in a rush and turned back to Brynjolf, her gaze so intense that it made him avert his eyes. "But to let him be the dominant… look how shy he is, and those puppy eyes…" now he stared at her incredulously, "and that adorable knoblet down there!" The woman squealed and covered her mouth with both of her hands.

Brynjolf followed her finger, now pointing to an especially sensitive area of his body. His eyes narrowed into a death glare, piercing the devil before him. This. Ends. Now.

"Well, ladies," he pointed in a quiet voice, "sorry to shatter your hopes. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll put this _knoblet_ of mine back in its cover and be on my way. Oh," he added as he pulled the black breeches he wore under his merchant uniform back on, "and you better watch out for the tax collectors. They might come sooner than you think."

He walked out of the room with a sour scowl on his face, and from behind he heard the giggling again, accompanied by the words "So manly! The beast awakens, rawr!" And a burst of laughter followed.

He was snapped back to Nirn, shuddering at the memory, and felt beads of cold sweat emerging on his forehead. He slapped his face inwardly, reminding himself that he was currently standing by his stall in the city marketplace, trying to sell one of his miraculous potions. The naiveté of Riften citizens never failed to amaze him, as they never hesitated to buy a love potion or something to change their appearance, and despite his inventions never being more than simple decoctions made of herbs stolen from Ingun Black-Briar's inventory, there were always a few idiots that actually believed them and even after trying them for the umpteenth time, they were eager to spread the word of his godly elixirs.

"Beautiful baubles and gleaming gemstones over here!" called the Argonian on the remote side of the round plaza located at the center of the city, surrounded by a low stone wall and wooden pavement built over the canal which traversed the whole settlement. Madesi, the jewelry merchant, was always surrounded by women of all sorts, examining his goods with eyes glistening with greed. Oh, the demons flocking about, with arms akimbo, bouncing their hips as though they were floating, always thinking at the back of their minds, always scheming and dreaming. A good source of easy income, they were, but gods forbid that a man were to approach them in earnest.

And their giggles, their infinite giggles. Women always managed to find something to giggle at, albeit completely beyond a man's comprehension, usually accompanying it with a stare in someone's general direction.

"Ohoho," he heard one of them chortle, twisting where she stood with a hand pressed to her cheek, "and you know what he said then? You are like a single petal of a rose that fell to my feet, so helpless, so innocent that I had to pick you up. I will cherish this beautiful being for the rest of my life!"

Brynjolf scowled and resisted the urge to stick out his tongue in disgust. Now came the business part, and so he straightened his back and put on his most positive and forthcoming smile, calling from the top of his lungs.

"And you can help him do so if you buy my Scented Elixir of Beauty!" he called to her, promptly depositing a translucent bottle on his stall. It was gleaming in light pink color as the rays of afternoon sun touched its surface. "Yes, yes, it was here before, but listen! Gather 'round and listen, all of you! I have met an alchemist, a prodigy of great skill! Remember my Falmer Blood Elixir? Be amazed, because this," he raised the bottle above his head, turning it around in slow motion, "is the astounding combination of longevity and beauty. In one single flask!"

A number of ah's and oh's rose from the crowd and there were murmurs spreading like circles on the water, but a few faces twisted in exasperated scowls and a Dunmer man scoffed with a theatrical shake of his head.

"Come on, Brynjolf, another one? We all know how effective your potions are!"

"Oh but that's where you're wrong," Brynjolf replied with stoic patience. "This one contains refined dust of aedric origins, a very rare ingredient! It might not be appealing to you, Brand-Shei, but to the ladies here, it will be a miracle. One sip and your life energy is restored, your body reshaped exactly as you like it and your mind clear of all worries! You will be born anew!"

"But Brynjolf…"

"Yes, yes, I will take one!" the woman from before exclaimed, hurrying towards the stall maybe a little too eagerly. Indeed, someone like her would certainly find use of such a potion, being chubby, unappealing and with crooked legs, but nevertheless, Brynjolf stepped forward, smiling angelically at her, and gently touched her hip.

"Pardon me, my fair lady, but already stunning as you are, you will rip every man's heart off of their chest with this potion," he purred sweetly. "That calls for a discount. Fifteen septims for you."

"Oh," she tingled shyly, a crimson flush dying her cheeks, "why thank you. Here you go." She pressed a few coins into Brynjolf's hand, taking the flask with a reverent look, and let Brynjolf touch her once more. His eyes followed her as she scurried from the marketplace, squealing in excitement, and his hand wandered into his satchel, depositing fifteen golden coins along with a ring and a few folded pieces of paper. Today's hunt was already a success.

As more people gathered, Brynjolf let them argue among themselves for a good while, using their own words against them.

"Ah, but we have no proof…" a man in farmer's clothing said with a skeptical frown.

"Oh come on, where's the harm in trying? If it were up to you, you'd spend your life loafing about that crumbling shack of yours, no adventure, no excitement! You should always try everything you can!" Housewives. How amazing they can be.

"Aye, that is right," Brynjolf nodded eagerly. "You wouldn't disappoint such a spirited lady, would you now?"

"Excuse me, but this is my wife and we're in the middle of…"

"Yes, and a very energetic and admirable wife, I must say. You are very lucky to have her by your side. I pray that you spend many more happy years together."

"I… uh… I guess we could take one…"

And that is how it went, until the sun descended to the western horizon and the last of the golden rays of light flickered and disappeared beneath the Riften roofs. Brynjolf waited until most of the people vacated the area, purposely ignoring Mjoll the Lioness who strode through the city with her typical frown, complaining about how the city needs purging from the thieves to a young milk-drinker who always followed her every step. When they had finally passed and disappeared behind the door to the Bee and Barb, Brynjolf packed his things and made his way to the cemetery adjacent to the Temple of Mara and down to the Cistern, a round cave with a pond and circular dais at the center, connected to the rest of the room by four narrow bridges.

He was immediately greeted by his guildsiblings, the ever so positive Rune grinning at him with his usual mirth and Thrynn standing in the middle of the room in his threatening stance. Niruin, the Bosmer archer, was busy with turning his shooting target into a pincushion, but he raised his head as the red-haired Nord entered.

"Oh hey, Bryn," he sang in his smooth tenor, "I heard girls from the city talking about you today. Becoming quite popular lately, I see."

"Oh not again," Brynjolf groaned.

"Apparently, they're turning you into a legend. Something with idols and unexpected love stories, I hear."

"Oh hush! Those have been around for some time. If that's all, it's good."

"Ah, but then again, they're starting to pick more targets," the elf said with a laugh. "Apparently there's not a man in the guild that would not fall prey to them sooner or later. Seems like you're not alone this time."

"Now you're scaring me. Well, see you around. Gotta take something to Delvin."

"Sure," Niruin nodded. "By the way, Rune took some of your flasks. Said it was an experiment or what." With that, he returned to his archery practice.

"Oh boy," Brynjolf shook his head as he entered the door on his left, finding himself in a paved passageway with low ceiling. Beneath it was the Ragged Flagon, a secret tavern only accessed by the most ruthless individuals – or the luckiest – and at one of the small tables sat a balding Breton with a large goblet in his hand, going by the name of Delvin Mallory.

"Back from a job, eh?" he asked in a hoarse accented voice, sounding as though he did not use his nose to breathe, which, considering its fairly deformed shape, might have been true. "Har'ly noticed you was gone."

Brynjolf chuckled, as he remembered leaving this man here in the exact same position as he was now. "Here's the spoils," he said proudly, depositing a small fortune of golden septims, gems and jewelry onto the table. "Now I'm ready for a shot of something good. Vekel?"

The bartender behind the counter nodded readily. "I'm on it."

A while later, a pint of Black-Briar Reserve was standing before Brynjolf and pure bliss flooded his cheeks. He raised the flagon to his mouth, patting Delvin on his shoulder. "To our guild," he said, taking a draught of the fine liquid.

"To our guild," Delvin seconded, raising his own.

Brynjolf's hand buried itself to his satchel and pulled out the papers, unfolding them in one swift practiced movement.

"What've you got there?" his companion asked curiously.

"Who knows," the red-hair shrugged. "Judging by who I stole it from, probably a love letter or something."

"Ah, a fine li'erature, I see. Let me read it when yeh finish."

Refreshed by another sip from his flagon, Brynjolf smoothed the paper with his fingers and looked at the sloping script, but the mead sprayed all over the table as he choked. His jaw dropped and his eyes widened in disbelief, staring at the paper, now shaking in his hand. He barely noticed Delvin jumping on his feet, wiping the spilled liquor and spitting curses at him. As well as the said liquor.

Brynjolf reread the line three times. Nothing changed. He reread it once more and the text was still there, written in black and white, and it bored a hole into this stomach. _What in Oblivion is this?!_

 _Rune pinned Brynjolf to the wall, the look in his eyes desperate, reeking with lust and desire. Brynjolf gazed at him and could not help but stop at the deliciously thick lips that invited, tempted, lured. He felt hotness in his cheeks, his senses dulled by the proximity of this man's body, by the feeling of his hot breath on his face. Oh gods, please… He felt something tense up down below his abdomen and his lips inadvertently parted, his tongue sticking out slightly to wet them. Rune's hand touched his face, sliding along it in one tender movement._

 _"_ _Bryn," the young thief whispered, and the sound of his voice roused Brynjolf even further. "I can't hold it in anymore…"_

 _"_ _It's all right, Rune," Brynjolf said in a comforting voice, his hoarse voice so fresh and crispy it made the other shift nervously. "I'm here…"_

 _"_ _Bryn…" A moment of silence before their lips touched, sliding, caressing, pressing and retreating again._ I wish this moment never ends…

 _A sudden flush of desire overtook him. Brynjolf grabbed Rune's shoulders, turning him around and pressing him against the wall, his hands groping about his back before sliding a little lower. This man was his. His and nobody else's. Now the hunger he had felt for so long would finally be satiated._

 _He kissed the man between the shallow breaths, lips meeting lips, tongue exploring the depths of this new world of sweetness. He wanted him so badly, this young innocent thief. Ever since he had first laid his eyes on him, he knew this man would one day become his, even if he had to force him. And now he was here on his own, presenting himself to Brynjolf on a silver platter._

 _He deepened the kiss. Further and deeper, he needed to taste more of this man._

 _"_ _Bryn… ah… I can't…" the youngster moaned. Oh gods, he was so damn cute…_

 _"_ _You're mine," he whispered to him. "I will never let you go."_

Brynjolf covered his mouth and stood up abruptly, clutching the papers in his fingers. Trembling in shock, he left the table and strode past the counter.

"What did yeh find there, Bryn?!" Delvin called to him, but he only shook his head wildly, retreating into the secluded room by the entrance to the Cistern, the only one that was permanently empty.

 _"_ _Bryn… I need to tell you something."_ As he stared at the beginning of the story, cold shivers ran down Brynjolf's spine. Was _this_ what the girls liked to do in their free time?

 _Burn it,_ his mind was telling him, _burn it and you'll never have to look at this again._

But the damage had already been done, and there was this slight tug of curiosity at the back of his mind that kept him from doing the only reasonable thing he could. He took a deep breath and folded the papers, inserting them back into his satchel. A long while passed when he stared at the empty wall, watching the shadows dance on it in the flickering candlelight, before he finally decided to leave the room again. Delvin gazed at him curiously but he just waved his hand.

"False alarm," he sighed. "I thought Maven Black-Briar was breaking ties with us, but the letter was forged."

"Bryn," the Breton said quietly, putting a hand on Brynjolf's shoulder, "yeh was never one to freak out when doing business. So? What had yeh so worked up, eh?"

Ah, blast it. How could he forget that the Guild's main dealer and informant was always quick to catch on?

"Trust me, Delvin, you don't want to know."

"Why so secre'ive? Now you really got my attention."

"It's very personal."

"And since when is yeh afraid of sharin' personal stuff with me, eh?"

"Since… ah, fine, just… keep your voice down, come with me…"

A few moments later, the balding informant of the Thieves Guild burst out in a roar of laughter unlike any and a number of people in the underground tavern raised their brows and exchanged surprised looks.

"De… deliciously thick lips…" the Breton laughed, clutching a stone in the wall with one hand while massaging his belly with the other, "oh gods… and… world of sweetness… I will never let you go… this is so hilarious! Ha ha ha, the author must be a genius!"

"Shhh, Delvin!" Brynjolf hissed, putting a hand over his friend's mouth. "Not so loud!"

"Oh c'mon, Bryn, you can't keep all the fun to yerself!"

"No way in Oblivion I'm sharing this with the rest of the… Sapphire, what the…?"

A dark-haired beauty passed them swiftly, ordering a tankard of her own. She propped herself against the counter, slamming her fist onto it with force one would not have expected of such a slight figure.

"Damn that Shadr! The blasted Redguard's gonna be the death of me. But," she raised a finger, overlooking the whole place with a mischievous spark in her eyes, "I got the most hilarious story for you today. You know that Imperial woman with crooked legs that always comes to Madesi's stall?"

Brynjolf swallowed hard, fists clenching in apprehension.

"Well, if you didn't know, she writes stories," _Oh gods, no!_ "like really dumb ones. And guess what?"

Everyone watched the woman with curious eyes, wondering what was about to come.

"Today, I talked to three people in the Bee and Barb. They all told me the same story. She wrote about them and it came true! To the letter! Literally."

"Aaah, another of those legends," Vex, a blonde Imperial woman, the only one Brynjolf had ever come to respect, said as she joined her guildmates, a smirk on her face as was usual for her. "We got an oracle in Riften, now. Nice little gang we're gathering here. Only means more coin in our… what's wrong, Brynjolf?"

Brynjolf felt the color retreating from his face. He looked at Delvin who was laughing again, barely catching his breath.

"Delvin…"

"This is just so brilliant…"

"Delvin, stop laughing!"

"Bryn, caught in 'is own trap," the Breton roared, slapping his knees.

"What happened?" Vex asked with a raised brow, raising a cup to her lips coolly.

"Brynjolf is 'er next target," Delvin chortled, seating himself on his chair. "Got 'is own story."

"Oh really? Show us, show us!"

"Delvin!" Brynjolf snarled, but now all eyes were on him and everyone was grinning. "Oh, no, no no no!" He backed away, shaking his head. "No story for you, not now, not ever! Now get back to whatever you've been doing!"

"Aww, Bryn, c'mon!"

"No!"

"Delvin, you saw it?"

"I'm warning you, Delvin…"

"Nay, I'll just sit 'ere an' watch," the Breton said with a grin, still shaking with an occasional outburst of laughter.

"You better do," Brynjolf wagged his finger at him, sighing as he turned to exit the tavern. He ignored the disappointed shouts from his guildmates as he entered the Cistern. He sighed in relief, looking over the one place in the world that never changed, finding comfort in the snapping sound of Niruin's bow and the never ceasing screeching of the whetstone. Then Rune approached him with that good-natured smile of his and suddenly Brynjolf was reminded of things he did not want to remember.

"Hey, Bryn…"

"Ah, Rune, sorry, I think I left something back in the Flagon," the red-hair shook his head and turned to leave, but he was stopped by his guildmate who put a hand on his shoulder. Brynjolf shuddered.

"Got just a moment?" he asked in his soft voice.

Brynjolf turned to face him. "What is it?"

Rune shifted on his feet nervously, scratching his chin. Brynjolf could not help but frown in apprehension.

"What is it?" he repeated impatiently.

"You see, Bryn…" Rune began, biting on his lip. He closed his eyes with a sigh and opened them again. Brynjolf pierced him with a look, folding his arms over his chest. There was a small piece of dust stuck to Rune's face and as Brynjolf stared at it, his eyes slid up. Strange. He had never noticed that Rune's eyes were of murky grey color, like a veil of mysteries. And above them spanned two fans of surprisingly long eyelashes…

 _Idiot!_ he screamed at himself inwardly. _That is_ not _how you think of a guildbrother!_

"Listen, if you've got nothing to say, I'd…"

"No, I… gods, this is really hard to say. You know, Bryn, could you meet me at the marketplace after midnight? I need to tell you something."

"I… beg your pardon?" Brynjolf stared at him incredulously. _No, no, no, this is not happening!_

"Just… midnight. Marketplace. See you there." The young thief waved his hand, winked at him and scurried away. Brynjolf shivered as a streak of cold sweat made its way down his cheek.

The time until midnight seemed to be endless and painfully short at the same time. Brynjolf had a meal which he found awfully tasteless, and in the end he put in so much spice that he killed what had been left of the taste himself. His tongue stung and the mead burned his throat. Every time he looked at the paperwork waiting for him on the guildmaster's table, the only thing that was before his eyes were the sloping lines featuring him and Rune.

 _Oh gods, I'm screwed,_ he thought to himself with a heavy sigh. He circled the Cistern restlessly, then circled it again, and again, and one after one the eyes of his guildmates started following his footsteps in curious question.

 _No no no, think of something else, something else… no men, women…_

The sight of a chubby woman giggling at the marketplace filled his mind and he shook his head fiercely to chase the image away.

 _How about some guild stuff… got a numbers job to do. Need to hurry up or Delvin will get mad…_

The Breton informant was sitting in the Ragged Flagon, laughing like a demented daedra with Sheogorath's blessing at the story of him and Rune.

 _Gods damn it, so Sapphire… no, not Sapphire, she's the one who came with the whole oracle business… business, aye, my elixirs?_

 _"_ _By the way, Rune took some of your flasks. Said it was an experiment or what,"_ Niruin's words rang in his head. For the love of the Nine, why did _everything_ have to remind him of Rune? Then he stopped, eyes wide, and his hand shot up to his lips. _Oh no!_

No, there was no way… there was simply no way one of those love potions could work, was there? But if it did… no, it couldn't be. Rune wouldn't be so careless… and besides, the potion is supposed to make its consumer fall in love with the first person they saw, and that definitely wasn't Brynjolf… unless… no, no! It simply couldn't be!

Inadvertently, his hand strayed into his satchel, touching the paper inside. He pulled it out and his stomach knotted.

 _The moons were out in their full glory and the air was filled with the soft rustling of the grass, matching their mingling breaths. They were so close to each other, and yet both of them wanted to be closer._

 _"_ _I want to become one with you," Rune moaned softly. "Please." His eyes were wide, sparkling in the moonlight, making Brynjolf tense and want to strip the boy immediately. His hand found a buckle on his armor, and the cold steel thing clicked open before he could stop himself. Another followed and the armor loosened, exposing the youngster's neck. Brynjolf gulped at the sight of the fair, tender skin, inviting him to go further and rid the boy of everything that separated them. He leaned forward and his lips closed around an especially juicy spot, sucking him, marking him as his own._

 _"_ _B-Bryn…"_

No! Brynjolf quickly folded the paper again, putting it back in its place before the occupants of the Cistern start asking embarrassing questions. He checked the hourglass on the guildmaster's table and winced when he noticed it was almost midnight. He quietly left the Cistern, making sure that nobody followed him, and made his way to the marketplace, fighting his shaky legs. Rune was sitting on the low wall surrounding the plaza, right next to his stall, gazing up at the colorful skies.

"I'm here," Brynjolf announced colorlessly.

"Oh, Bryn!" Rune breathed, jerking his head. "I didn't notice you…"

"So?"

"Well… gods, how do I say this?"

"Listen, Rune, if this is about the elixirs…"

"What?!" the youngster squealed an octave higher than his usual tone. "No! No, definitely not!"

"You… didn't drink any of it, right?"

There was a silence and Brynjolf cursed the beautiful night. Why couldn't it snow, like it always was in Skyrim? Or rain? Or why wasn't there a thunderstorm to distract him? Why was the night so beautiful, with both of the moons lighting their heads… oh, the moons… gods, no. He chased the appalling memory away.

"No," Rune shook his head at last, "I didn't. Swear."

Brynjolf slapped his forehead inwardly. _Swear._ That always meant a lie. He grabbed Rune's shoulders and shook him.

"Which one?" he asked tensely.

"But I…"

 _"_ _Which one?!"_ He felt like his head was about to burst into a thousand of pieces any second.

"Bryn, are you all right?" Rune asked with apparent concern in his voice. "You've seemed so tense today…" He raised his hand and touched his forehead, making Brynjolf take a few abrupt steps back.

"I'm… I'm perfectly fine, thank you. So what is it you wanted?"

"I think I'm gonna wait a bit longer," Rune shook his head. "We can just… you know, enjoy watching the stars together…"

 _Gods dammit, are you serious?!_

"Oh, and I brought you something." He fumbled about his bag, taking out two bundles of something wrapped in linen cloth. He handed one to Brynjolf who untied it, and a piece of strawberry soufflé presented itself in all its sweetness. Brynjolf did not fail to notice its bright pink color.

"This… are you freaking serious?"

"Hey," the youngster put his hands up defensively, "I thought you might appreciate it. After the long day and all, you know. The Guild's struggling, we barely have fun…" He smiled almost apologetically.

"Whatever," Brynjolf sighed with a shake of his head. "Let's just finish them and go back." He dug into the sweet dessert, finding it surprisingly delicious, and there was silence once more.

A while later, the two of them went back to the Cistern. Brynjolf laid himself on his bed with his arms folded under his head. He felt exhausted, but that night, sleep did not come to relieve him.

* * *

 _Omg, I really wrote this shit, didn't I? Welp, now it's done. *cringe*_  
 _Hope you had fun. I'm out!_


	2. Someone Stole Your Sweetroll

On the third night, Brynjolf had a dream. That alone would have been fine. He had lots of dreams, some that he proudly told to the whole Guild when the chance arose, and some he preferred to keep to himself. His dreams could usually be sorted into two categories – the ones where he managed to steal the damn thing, and the ones that sent him down the shame pit and ended up with the angered cougar face of Maven Black-Briar being the last thing he saw.

On this night, he had managed to steal the damn thing and he greatly regretted it. This he would never tell the Guild. Especially Delvin, the son of a blasted daedra.

 _He was perched on the rooftop of Mercer's house, a feat he liked to perform to prove to himself he could outflank his own guildmaster. The night was ripe, the moons dancing in the sky in perfect balance of Masser's crimson and Secunda's gold, extending a silent invitation. He watched them, pondering. That alone was odd – Brynjolf never needed to ponder anything. He was all about action. Contemplations were for the weak. Yet here he was, watching the skies, deep in thought._

 _Someone joined him there. He shot the person an alarmed look, then recognized the silhouette contrasting the torch lights rising from the city below. At his side sat Rune, shoulders stooped and face turned downward to the silent streets. Brynjolf let out a relieved breath. It was just Rune, nothing to be afraid of. It was just…_

 _He froze. Not only had Rune invaded his private spot that he reserved for moments of triumph, but Brynjolf_ accepted it _?! Since when was he so benevolent toward the cheerful youngster? No, that was… wrong._

 _He patted Rune on the shoulder, brows furrowed a little more than he normally would. "Whatever might you be doing here?"_

 _His companion flashed him the brightest of smiles. "You've done it, Bryn. You've finally done it."_

 _"Done what?"_

 _"Performed the greatest theft in history," he said, face so angelic that it made Brynjolf want to melt on the spot._

 _Now we're talking, the redhair thought to himself, finally easing up. So this was about business. Nothing to be afraid of. But there was this unsettling flicker in Rune's eyes, and he did not like it one bit. What kind of theft was he talking anyway?_

 _"Remind me what I did?" he asked with utter cautiousness._

 _He winced as Rune suddenly pulled him into an embrace, arms wrapping tightly around him. He could feel his breath tickle his skin as the youngster whispered in his ear. "You stole my heart."_

Brynjolf sat up abruptly, struggling against the blanket he had somehow managed to wrap around himself so tightly that it threatened to squeeze the life out of him. By Nocturnal, this was not happening to him. For the past three days, the whole Guild had been laughing at him! He would not stand for this sort of ridicule any longer. On this day, things would go back to normal.

He scrambled out of his bed, giving wide yawns to the semi-empty Cistern. Niruin watched him out of the corner of his eye, hands on his bow, not missing a single mark. To Brynjolf's utter annoyance, the archer's lips quirked up in a smile at the sight of him.

"So happy to bring you to good humor on this morning," he growled, eyes two caustic slits.

"Indeed!" the elf quipped, slinging the bow over his back as he approached Brynjolf and patted him on the shoulder. "Heard Maven is considering adding a publishing company to her name. Apparently, Skyrim people are finding a sudden interest in literature."

"Yeah, and I suppose I can look forward to a life of a celebrity. What a wonderful idea."

"Come on, Bryn, chin up! Life's beautiful! For you, it could be blooming roses. Look, there's your better half!" He winked as the door from the Ragged Flagon opened, revealing a somewhat ragged Rune. If memory served Brynjolf right, he was returning from a heist. But the very sight of Brynjolf made Rune brighten up with a smile that was maybe too wide for his own good and the redhead quickly turned away.

"I shall be going," he muttered and made for the ladder to the Riften graveyard. Morning romance was the last thing he needed, especially now that Maven was on his tail. He would have a good word with her. Knowing Maven, she would pour gold over him and make him a statue if it brought her more fame and wealth. And he needed to prevent that.

He rushed outside, stealing his breakfast from Thrynn's tray before the former bandit could notice a thing. Nibbling on a piece of Eidar cheese, he greeted the citizens outside, many of him his loyal and ever foolish customers that he needed to pamper. The smile on his face was entirely forced, but fortunately, none of these simpletons realized it. He stopped just before the Black-Briar Meadery, quickly constructing a convincing speech that would not sound as though he was undermining her authority (which he indeed was, and Oblivion help him if he found a way to destroy it once and for all). But as his hand touched the brass handle of the entrance door, he paused, lips suddenly widening in a triumphant grin. She hated to be ridiculed, did she not? The answer was at hand, and it would solve so many problems at once. Of course!

He scurried back to the Cistern, eyes frantic with sudden ardor at the prospect of peace, and people promptly fell back to clear the way for him. A number of raised eyebrows welcomed him as he shot into the underground Guild lair and buried his upper half in his chest. He had put the so-called story at the very bottom of it, refusing to risk a single look, but now it was a treasure. A key to the way out.

And he read. He studied every single letter of it, every line and curve, ignoring calls from his guildmates announcing that "Brynjolf has finally lost it!" and "Rejoice! The Guild is now walking the path of love!" He only paused when Mercer Frey, the Guildmaster himself, stopped by, looming as much as his slight Breton figure allowed him.

"And I presume we are baking strawberry sweetrolls tomorrow?" he purred, but underneath it was that hoarse, threatening growl that only Mercer could produce. "Shall I be your witness when the two of you finally exchange them and slide them over each other's lower member?"

Brynjolf paled at that, cursing the Breton for pronouncing the last word with such distinct tastefulness. By the time the Guildmaster left his dumbfounded second-in-command to his thoughts, the whole Cistern was roaring with laughter and the redhair felt waves of hot and cold wash over him in turns. He clenched his fists, but did not stop. This needed to be done.

* * *

After several hours that felt like eternity, he finally emerged from the depths of the underground complex, gripping a folder with a handful of papers inside. The first thing to welcome him at the round central plaza was the sight of Mjoll the Lioness, the self-righteous paladin savior of Riften, followed by her lackey Aerin and a person he had not seen before, clad in the standard Riften guard armor. They passed him, Mjoll shooting him a look of utter disgust. The new guard threw him a somewhat irked look.

"What're you lookin' at?!" he snapped, catching Brynjolf off-guard. He silently congratulated the man for turning the Guild against himself. "Ah, let me guess. Someone stole your sweetroll!"

You're dead meat, the thief swore to himself, turning around. It was time to finally face Maven, and all the aces were in his hands.

As soon as he entered the meadery, a pungent smell filled his nostrils and made his brows wrinkle. How he hated the stench. It reminded him of Vex's socks when she took them off after a heist, and that alone was a smell that hurt just to remember. He sailed through the small crowd of people at the front hall where all the supposed business occurred and entered the rear parts where the real business took place. And business he meant.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," he heard a familiar raspy voice utter behind him and turned around to face Maven herself. How she had managed to creep past him was beyond his understanding. "Our newest little star. I hope you didn't come to discuss increase in your commissions as there will be none. I haven't heard of any Guild contribution lately. But then again, if you and that whelp you keep do a public performance, I might consider not stomping on your head."

"Oh dear Maven, if only you knew," Brynjolf purred, giving her the softest and most compassionate smile he could produce. "I have taken the liberty of doing a little inspection in the house of my newest admirer and I must say I am deeply concerned. After all… you wouldn't want this to end up in the wrong hands."

He handed her the folder. She snatched it without asking. People like Maven never asked and he was more than grateful for that. Upon scanning the first paper, her face slowly grew from smug to unsettled to utterly outraged. He found the change in her expression quite amusing. But then again, when one gets to read their own love story, things can quickly escalate to the fires of Oblivion. Especially when it contains phrases like:

 _Maven smiled and wrapped her arms around the plump little girl, caressing her round, rosy cheeks. "I can only be myself with you," she sighed softly, burying her head in the other one's hair. "I would trade all the mead in the world for you. I would give you the whole of me. No, I_ will _give you the whole of me! I have to have you! Please!"_

And on it went. Maintaining a serious expression took Brynjolf tremendous effort. Maven was shaking with anger, and for once, he was thrilled by it. After all, it is not every day that one gets to fool Maven Black-Briar, cornered by her own pride. Sweet Nocturnal, forgery was such a beautiful craft. Brynjolf was seriously considering a shift in profession.

"Not a word of this will get around, or there are going to be some mysterious disappearances of people that no one will ever miss." She clutched and crumpled the papers, storming off into the streets. Brynjolf grinned to himself inwardly. Things were going according to the plan.

* * *

It had taken Maven less than an hour to convince the right people to take care of the paperwork and the uncomfortable woman as well. No one would damage her reputation – that was a rule the whole Riften knew and honored, or else there would be consequences. A beautiful rule, Brynjolf thought to himself. One that was easily exploited when you knew your way around.

He rubbed his hands in satisfaction. Upon entering the Cistern, he learned that Rune had mysteriously vanished from the Ratway complex, but that did not worry him. He would be back sooner or later, and when he arrived, everything would be over.

Brynjolf unpacked his best set of the Thieves Guild armor. He had never worn this one. Its buckles were shining like a mirror, the leather was clean and unscratched and the lacing did not need any mending, unlike the one he usually wore. It had some extra pockets and belts to attach a good number of weapons, both inside and outside. This time, Brynjolf chose to make the daggers attached to his feet as visible as he could. A number of darts, pins and tiny knives were clipped to the hem of his sleeves. Up where they were, they served no real purpose, but to a normal person, the sight alone would be enough to make them squirm like a cornered skeever. He nodded to himself, satisfied with his reflection in the stale Cistern water, and headed out once more.

At the prison entrance, he greeted the guard, exchanging the prearranged sign. Everyone else knew better than to look his way. Three guards in the central block were too busy with playing a game of dice. The prisoners were generally the ones he had sent there previously, averting their eyes and clutching their fists in silence. The woman he sought was at the very back, in a fortified cell guarded by a pile of steel-hard muscles clad in a few scarce leather straps. Next to him was a giant warhammer, propped against the moldy wall.

"Whatever you want, get out," he grunted as he cracked his knuckles.

"I wish to speak to the prisoner," Brynjolf said in a conversational tone as though he had not heard the threat. The man stared at him incredulously. Obviously, Brynjolf was the first person who ever tried to oppose him.

"Are you deaf? Get. Out."

"Maven Black-Briar sent me," the thief shrugged.

"Riiight. The same Maven Black-Briar that told me to only let her in?"

Brynjolf put up an angelic smile. He just loved his type. "Mmm, better check your orders, darling. Things can get pretty fickle around here."

"I'm sorry, what did you just call me?"

The redhair groped about his pocket and leaned to him as he withdrew a pouch. He weighed it in his hand, letting the ringing sound fill the space between them, then pressed it into his bear hand. "I called you a darling," he whispered. "Now, do we have a deal?"

The man stared at the pouch, most likely seeing such an amount for the first time in his life, and that's when Brynjolf knew he had him. His smile widened and he gave the man a light pat on the shoulder. "It is yours," he affirmed. "So do we have a deal?"

"Y-yessir!" the man blurted out as he made way for the thief, propping himself against the neighboring cell and pretending nothing had happened. Brynjolf took his original place, watching the person behind the bars out of the corner of his eye.

"So," he addressed her, adopting an unsettlingly casual tone, "we finally meet again, my fair lady."

"You!" she spat, pressing herself to the damp wall at the back of the cell just to keep as far away from Brynjolf as she could. "You're the one who…"

"You know very well who I am," he told her, fingers sliding over the hilt of one of his many daggers.

"A blasted, vengeful…"

"Now now, let us calm down, shall we?"

"And what good will that do me, hm?!"

"Perhaps it will give you back your freedom." He waited, hiding his smile as he heard her exhale. There was a momentary silence, then she took a step closer.

"I'm listening," she said.

"Good. Your task is simple. I'll get you a quill and some papers, you'll write me a story. How does that sound?"

"And where's the catch?"

"None, except it must be written just as I tell you."

"So what would the story be about?"

"I want you to write how I broke Rune's heart and he came to his senses." Brynjolf could not believe himself. Here he was, asking a crazy woman to write him a story just so he would be free of his nightmare. She took a while to respond, making his uneasiness feel unbearable.

"Sorry," she said at last, "but I can't do that."

"Then I guess I'll just have to provide Maven with some solid evidence that you are indeed trying to take her place," he shrugged, turning to her with a smile. The woman paled visibly and stretched out her hands in a gesture of defense.

"No! You can't! You wouldn't…"

"Oh I would. So?"

"Please! You must understand! I had to do it!"

"You had to do what?"

"Write that story! Spread rumors… you know! He said you'd kill him! And he'd have my head! He looked like such a nice young lad at first, how was I supposed to know he was with the Guild?! Riften is such a rotten place…" She started sobbing. Ugly as she was, the tears made her frog face look even worse. Brynjolf usually liked sobbing people. They meant profit. But not this time. Despite himself, he pressed his face to the bars, eyeing her with keen interest.

"Care to elaborate?"

"Y-your guildmate! The young one, Rune! He came to me a few days back, just like you! Why does the Guild take such pleasure in threats?!"

There was a click in his mind as the pieces of the puzzle came together. Brynjolf clutched the bars, wiping off a good portion of rust. "Rune made you write it? What for?"

"Well… that's…"

* * *

Brynjolf was waiting, his back against a fallen tree trunk. The moons were beautiful again. They mirrored in the glistening surface of lake Honrich, dancing as a freshly wed pair. Despite the season, the breeze was warm tonight, brushing against his skin with the lightness of a dove's feather.

He heard footsteps in the grass but did not have to look up to know who was coming. Rune joined him, settling himself just beside him. His armor was down, his light tunic slightly revealing his shoulder. A sweet smell filled Brynjolf's nostrils. The youngster was freshly washed and perfumed, giving off the scent of pines and lavender.

"Good choice," he told Brynjolf. "I like the scenery. It makes me want to fly over there." And he pointed to the sea of deep blue above, dotted with flickering stars.

"The skies are no place for a thief," Brynjolf snorted.

"Tell that to them," Rune said, gesturing up. The redhair followed the line from his fingertips and his eyes found the Thief sign. Of course. It was the middle of Evening Star and the Thief watched over Nirn. "And by the way, I brought some sweetrolls." He pressed a package in Brynjolf's hand.

"Good," Brynjolf nodded, lips curling up in a smile. "Make your life as sweet as possible while you can."

That made the youngster freeze, staring at him with sudden uncertainty. "B-Bryn… I thought you called me here to…"

"Yes?"

"Well, you know… w-what is it then?"

Brynjolf sat up, fingers interlacing as he leaned to his companion. His face was inches from Rune's. He smiled and bared his teeth like a madman.

"I had a good talk with our seer friend in the prison," he informed him. The words had immediate effect as Rune's face twisted in unconcealed fear.

"B-but… whatever that poor wretch said… you wouldn't believe it, would you?"

"Oh, no. You're right, I always double check my facts. But then again, can you tell me, my _dear friend_ , why I couldn't find my potion flasks? And when I did find them, in the sewers, mind you, they were all broken and their contents spilled over certain very valuable piece of garment?"

"W-well…"

"And to top it off, you had to pull _this_ kind of trick…"

"But you _did_ kind of fall for it…"

"… and make a complete fool out of me?!"

"Umm, Bryn? Let's just calm down, okay? Have a sweetroll, watch the skies…"

"And slide it over my member, that's what you mean?" All the color retreated from Rune's face. "Whatever were you thinking?!"

"Well… y'know… you're a sweet soul… I thought you'd forget by the time you snapped out of this, well… gods, but you really _are_ funny when you get serious."

Brynjolf's face now matched his hair in color and he had to strain himself not to jump at his guildmate and grab him by the collar. He took a deep breath.

"Indeed," he said, his voice now dead calm. "Well, Rune, I am counting to three."

"Oh Bryn…"

"One."

"Come on…"

"Two."

"Fine, enjoy your sweetrolls!"

"Three!"

And he was gone. Brynjolf watched as the youngster darted away, leaving him there with the package. He opened it, examining the frosting. A piece of art. If only he liked sweets.

After a long while of staring at the lake and ruminating over the meaning of life or something along those lines, he gathered himself and made for the city. It had been a long day and this story would live with him as long as Delvin was walking the surface of Nirn. Damn that scheming brat to Oblivion.

He walked through the side gate and appeared just a few steps from the graveyard. A guard was patrolling the area and he could recognize the new recruit. The fool passed him, blinding him with a torch that he held close to his face. Brynjolf scowled and suppressed a cuss. The guard pointed to the graveyard.

"Looking for something in that area?" he asked, clearly oblivious to the Guild's existence. Brynjolf stared at him in disbelief.

"New around Riften?" he said with a hint of scoff. "Let me give you a piece of advice. Don't ask questions. It won't end well."

"Oh, let me guess. Someone stole your…"

Brynjolf took the contents of his hand and smashed them against the man's helmet.

"You did. Just now."

And he walked away.

The next day, a guard mysteriously disappeared from Riften and the Thieves Guild whispered of bittersweet love and broken hearts. And Delvin Mallory's nose became mysteriously fixed.


End file.
